Page 37 of The Club

Calmer now, I start thinking back. My head is fuzzy, nothing quite clear, but I remember the fight club. I remember fighting Dominic in the ring. I remember him walking away.

Then there was the alley. The men.

Dominic stopped them and then …

I don’t really know. I vaguely recall a cell, but it has a dreamlike quality. I know Dominic was there. I think he was going to kill me.

He claimed me instead.

If you remove it, I won’t fuck you for a week.

Arousal spills hotly into my groin, making my cock swell further against the cage. The pressure is intense, the denial so goddamn frustrating.

I get out of bed, wincing at the soreness of bruises on my torso. My face hurts too. I have a headache. I need water.

I get to the bathroom and figure out how to pee with this stupid thing on. I get in the shower and start washing away the last few awful days.

I explore the cage with my fingers. I’ve never been in a chastity device before. It’s weirdly erotic, like a hand curled around my cock.

After showering, I dress in lounge clothes. It’s early afternoon. Normally, I would head to the gym, but my face is bruised and my ribs hurt and all I can think about is my cock in the cage. I have to do something, so I sit down at the piano and play.

When my head’s not fucked up, I play every day. I love it, the way it quiets my thoughts and channels my energy without draining me. There’s nothing else like it.

It’s been months since I’ve been able to experience this with music, and it’s such a fucking relief to reach this state again that I don’t want to let it go. I just play and play. By the time I stop, it’s early evening.

I eat one of the meals from my delivery service.

As I dress for the evening, I find my phone in the pocket of last night’s jacket. I hadn’t thought to check it until now, and I find it blinking to show a missed text.

Two missed texts. The first is from this morning.

Unknown: Are you still wearing it?

The second came in an hour ago.

Unknown: Pouting is childish and annoying.

I change the contact to Controlling Asshole then reply,I’m not pouting. I didn’t check my phone until now.

The response is almost immediate.

Controlling Asshole: So wtf have you been doing? Finding a locksmith?

I reply,I would need my phone for that.

Controlling Asshole: Answer my fucking question.

I smile and type,Playing piano.

I type a second message.Since I can’t jack off.

Controlling Asshole: Do you like it?

I reply,I hate it, and I hate you.

Controlling Asshole: That’s fine. See you tonight. Behave.

Because I can’t let it end like that, I open my pants, snap a picture of my caged cock, and send it with the words,I don’t have much choice.

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